A Life at Hogwarts
by ShegoRulz
Summary: Starkid's 'A Very Potter Musical' based, rated high T for offensive slurs and violence. A one-shot about Quirrell's school life in Hogwarts all the way up to when he meets Voldemort for the first time.


**A Very Potter Musical based, rated high T for offensive slurs and violence. J.K. Rowling and Starkid own the rights! **

**A one-shot about Quirrell's school life in Hogwarts all the way up to his first meeting with Voldemort (so it's not exactly cheery all the time and contains some good old angst).**

**Enjoy (I hope) and review!**

He gets the letter just after his eleventh birthday. The owl pecks at his finger as Quirinus Quirrell attempts to take the envelope from its beak, and he can barely breathe as he sees the Hogwarts crest. This is it. He's going to the greatest school for wizards and witches and it's going to happen soon.

"Mom! Dad! I'm going to Hogwarts!" He runs into the living room, tearing open the envelope. "I'm really, really going!"

His parents obviously expected it, and it probably really isn't very surprising, but he's so happy that he can't help but be excited. Still, they're soon talking about boring stuff like robe fittings and all that, and Quirrell's mind drifts off. Maybe he can get an owl of his own when he's in school. And a wand!

He can hardly wait.

XxX

The platform is crowded, and a little scary. Quirrell's never been surrounded by so many people before, and he grips tightly onto his new owl's cage. He's named her Daffodil, after his favourite flowers, and it soothes him a little as she squawks. Maybe she's a bit worried about going too.

"M-Mom?" He begins hesitantly. "I don't…think I wanna go…"

His mother obviously senses how scared he's getting, because she stops wheeling the trolley with his trunk and places her hands on his shoulders. "I promise, you're going to have a great time there. This is what you've been waiting on for so long, and you deserve the best education and environment. You'll be fantastic."

"It's not about being fantastic, it's…" He hesitates. "People might think I'm…Weird."

"Why would they think that?"

He blushes. "'Cause…'cause I'm the only boy who doesn't want a girlfriend."

His mother smiles at him. "Listen to me. There's absolutely nothing weird about that. Your father and I love you, no matter what you get sorted by from the hat or the scarf."

"Scarf?"

His mother glances at her watch. "Darling, we need to hurry to the platform now. See the wall just there? You need to go through it and then you'll be at platform 9 ¾."

"Walk right…?" Quirrell echoes, glancing around. "But, the muggles!"

"It's fine, they won't notice. Just follow me." She begins to stride ahead, and Quirrell gasps slightly as she walks right through the wall, glancing around hastily in case anyone noticed. There doesn't seem to be a mad panic, and he swallows before making his way towards the wall, screwing his eyes shut as he gets closer and closer and…

Suddenly he's on an entirely different platform, and school kids are running towards the train that's waiting on the railway. His mother urges him onwards. "It'll be leaving soon, so you'd better try to get a good seat. I love you. We'll see you at Christmas!"

This is happening way too fast. "W-wait. I don't want to go anymore."

"It's normal to be nervous, Quirinus, but we both know how much you've been dying to go. This is a great step forwards, you know?" She kisses the top of his head. "Go on. And good luck."

He takes a deep breath and nods shakily, before grabbing his trunk from the trolley and making his way to the train.

XxX

"Ravenclaw!" The hat booms, and Quirrell refrains from punching the air in excitement. Yes! The House he's been desperate to get into, just like his mother was. He's eagerly putting on the striped blue ties when he feels the scarf placed on his shoulders and he smiles.

It's kind of funny, this scarf. So far it's just been telling other kids who they like. Quirrell wonders if he'll finally be told what sort of girlfriend he'll eventually get. He waits patiently as the rainbow scarf hums and murmurs. Finally, it exclaims loudly, making the young boy jump.

"Finally! Oh, we _finally_ got one!"

He listens, intrigued.

"Oh, kid, you're as gay as they come. And you'll be doing plenty of that later in the future too! The man you're gonna end up banging, oh _jeez!"_

Quirrell blushes furiously. Everyone in his year is staring at him in bewilderment as if he's some sort of crazy person. And still, the scarf doesn't shut up.

"I never would've paired you up with this one, not at all. You don't seem like the type, huh, kid? But you'll sweeten him up without even trying. Alright, then – _Homosexual_!"

The scarf is removed from his shoulders and Quirrell shakily makes his way over to the Ravenclaw table, but all the first graders edge away from him in embarrassment. What's wrong with them? It's not his fault. And why is it a problem that he likes boys? He supposes, deep down, that he knew all along. In a way it's nice for it to finally be confirmed.

And by the sounds of it, he's gonna get a boyfriend! Quirrell hopes he's nice and that he'll treat him well.

XxX

They all treat him as if he's gross, and Quirrell hasn't even done anything. Even some of the teachers act differently around him or blatantly ignore the abuse he's getting.

Really, what exactly is so wrong with liking boys?

He doesn't like any of _these_ boys, that's for sure. The ones who tower over him and trip him up in the corridors, calling him names. Are they scared of him? Do they think he'll kiss them or something like that?

He _has_ made friends with some of the girls, but they all giggle around him and only want to discuss boring stuff like clothes and shopping. What does he care about any of that? Besides, hanging out with girls only makes the boys laugh at him even more.

Quirrell sighs, alone in the dorm room as he sits on the bed and aimlessly conjures up flowers with his wand. It's pretty soothing and he soon finds himself lost in another world, as more and more flowers appear on his bed. As he conjures up daffodils, he reminds himself to check on his owl later, because she seems almost as lonely as he is nowadays.

He's interrupted when the door to the dormitory opens and three of his bullies stand there. They stare at him, and at all the plants, and then they start to laugh loudly. "Look, the fag with flowers! Are they for your boyfriend?"

Quirrell blushes, hastily gathering the flowers in a bunch to hold on to. "I don't have a boyfriend yet." He manages softly.

"Quit it." The taller boy, Corey, snaps. "Just quit it with the flower thing. It creeps us out. We don't want your gay shit."

"They're not for you." Quirrell replies with a small frown. "I wouldn't make any for you. And – liking flowers doesn't make you gay. It's just a coincidence that I like flowers and guys."

The daffodils are snatched from his hand, and another boy burns them with his wand. Quirrell watches silently, and digs his nails into his palms to try and calm himself down.

"You're such a queer." Corey says darkly, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Have I ever told you that I really, really love your name?"

Quirrell blinks in surprise. "Um, no. Th-thank you?"

"Your Mom must've known right away, yeah? That you're queer? _Queer_-inus? It can't be a coincidence, right?"

Quirrell blushes furiously as they all laugh again, and he jumps from the bed, gripping tightly onto his wand as he points it at them. "My – my name's – " He manages through clenched teeth, "I'm called Quirrell. Call me Quirrell!"

The boys back away slightly, clearly noticing his rage. "Watch it, Queer –"

"_Quirrell_! I've always hated Quirinus, so – it's Quirrell!"

He storms from the dorm, panting furiously. Quirrell. He wants to be known as Quirrell from now on.

XxX

He's known as Queer-inus by practically _everyone_ now. It spread like wildfire all through the school when it first started, and it still hasn't stopped, even though he's now in his fourth year. It's absolutely exhausting having to explain to every new kid that his name's _Quirrell, _and that yes, he's gay, but 'queer' is an extremely derogatory term, and…

It goes on and on and doesn't stop, and he wonders if it ever will. It's especially worse now that he's at the age where he's starting to get these…urges. Whenever he sees cute boys in the corridors he just wants to bury his face in their necks and receive a ton of kisses. Where's this boyfriend the fucking scarf promised him already?

And now he's late for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Ah, shit, not again! Quirrell hastily begins to run towards the classroom and practically bursts through the door, already wheezing. Exercise is really not his thing.

The professor and all the students glance up at him in annoyance, and he blushes, making his way to the empty desk at the back, mumbling apologies as he does so. Once seated, he leans down to retrieve his quill and book from his bag.

"So nice of you to join us, Mr. Quirrell." The professor says suddenly, and Quirrell quickly moves to straighten up, but ends up whacking his head on the bottom of the desk, yelping loudly. The professor sniffs in response, and Quirrell rubs at his head, resisting the urge to glare at him. He hates this guy and this stupid class. "We were just discussing Unforgiveable Curses. Perhaps you could tell us the last one?"

Quirrell glances at the blackboard, where 'Avada Kedavra' and 'Imperio' are already written, and he tries to remember. "It's – the, uh- it's C-Crucio." That's yet another embarrassing thing; years of bullying have left him with a slight stutter. "The C-cruciatus Curse, sir."

"And…?"

"It in-inflicts terrible p-pain on the person." Quirrell continues. "If used r-repeatedly, it can even lead to – to death, or permanent damage to the b-brain." Damn, his head hurts. He rubs it feebly, wondering if he's said enough.

"Exactly. Never underestimate, the Cruciatus Curse, class. If it were to be used on anyone of you right now, it's highly unlikely you'd survive the impact."

Quirrell represses the urge to sigh. This is all so pointless. No one in this room is ever going to be hit with a Crucio. Unfortunately. A small smile spreads across his face as he imagines the curse being used against someone like Corey, and then the professor slams a textbook on his desk loudly, making Quirrell jump.

"Is something funny?"

"Wha?" He replies dumbly, shaking his head. "N-no."

"You don't seem to appreciate the seriousness of this discussion, Quirinus."

"Qu-Quirrell." He corrects. "And I do. I j-just – No one is g-gonna use that curse anymore. The risk of Az-Azkaban is too great."

"We have the new Minister of Magic in our classroom, everyone." The professor responds dryly, making the class snigger. "Alright, then. Why don't you tell us about Azkaban?"

Quirrell blushes. Fuck this guy. "I…d-don't know that much about –"

"No, go on." A Slytherin girl pipes up with an expectant smirk. "We _all_ want to hear about Azkaban."

He squares up defiantly, determined to not show himself up. "It's a p-prison located on a d-deserted island. It's g-guarded by horrible things called d-dementors. They torture you by –"

"That's enough." The professor interrupts coldly.

"Well, you – you asked!"

"I called your bluff. Congratulations."

"They s-suck out your h-happy thoughts and feed off your m-misery." Quirrell continues as he looks at the class with raised eyebrows and a smirk. "Everyone, b-beware, 'cause they can even _K-kiss_ you."

The students are enraptured; many are beginning to look scared. "Kiss?" The same girl echoes.

"Bet he'd love that, the queer." Corey mutters. "Are these dementors dudes?"

Quirrell smiles back at the girl, effectively ignoring his bully. "They're m-monsters. When they kiss you, th-they suck out your soul. And what're you w-without a soul? A dead p-person walking."

"Enough!" The professor barks. "Detention."

"Are you serious?" Quirrell exclaims, throwing his quill down. "What d-did I do?"

"You're terrorising everyone, that's what. Well done, you've done your research. Now sit back and shut up."

Quirrell huffs angrily, folding his arms across his chest. So much for that, even though it had been pretty fun.

What a bunch of sissies.

XxX

"Divination is perhaps the most intense and rewarding subject you will ever learn." Professor Trelawney drones, and Quirrell aimlessly stares into his crystal ball. "Forget everything else – this is what matters. Deciding your fate…"

Quirrell snorts, and of course everyone looks at him. He shrugs back. "S-sorry?"

"You may well laugh, my dear." The professor murmurs, "But I sense a great sadness within you."

_That's cute_. "Is it 'cause I'm g-gay? I thought that m-meant the _opposite _of sad."

She studies him solemnly. "Look into the crystal ball some more."

"I've b-been doing that for the p-past thirty minutes." Quirrell gestures. "It's n-nothing but sp-speculation."

"Oh?"

"I'm sorry, but th-this class is pointless." He replies before he can stop himself, and she draws back sharply, narrowing her eyes. He begins to feel a little afraid at how dark her glare is.

"I see it now." She suddenly breathes, and then gasps dramatically. The class are riveted, glancing at Quirrell in apprehension. "You, my dear, are – you're in grave danger!"

_Never heard that one before. _"I am?"

"Horrible, just horrible. I see such terrible things…" She gasps again, pointing at him. "Immense suffering – betrayal – and, if it all goes wrong – _death."_

The class look at Quirrell with wide eyes, and he snorts again. "Th-that's original…"

"Heed my warning, Quirinus Quirrell, for someone dark and terrible will seek you out, and you'll be destroyed. Imprisoned. Nothing but fear will be left in your fragile soul…"

Holy shit, all because he said the class is pointless? "Uh. O-okay. I'll w-work on stopping it?" He attempts. Anything to make the stupid fraud shut up.

"It's too late." She sighs, clutching her scarf. "The warning has come too late. The prophecy will be fulfilled!" She takes off her glasses, dabbing at her eyes. "Oh, my dears, this is the punishment of mastering Divination. I'm feeling rather faint."

"Are you okay, professor?" A Hufflepuff asks nervously.

"We should take our minds off of it, I think." She replies weakly. "A – A quiz, for you all. I have one prepared."

A quiz to commiserate Quirrell's apparently inevitable doom? Sure, why not? He rolls his eyes as he accepts the paper, and is soon scribbling away. He finishes before everyone else, and walks up to her desk, passing the paper over. "C-can I leave?"

She looks up at him with pity. "I don't think you're much hope for this class, my dear, if I'm being honest." She glances at his paper, and then frowns, looking at it more closely. "But…"

"Is s-something wrong?" He asks innocently.

"Well, no, not…exactly…" She looks up at him again, thoroughly confused. "It's just that it looks like every answer is…correct. But I thought –"

"I said the class was p-pointless." Quirrell replies, slinging his bag on his shoulder. "I d-didn't say I wasn't g-good at it."

And with that, he leaves the tower.

XxX

"Try-outs! Try-outs for Quidditch!"

A now sixteen year old Quirrell pushes past the crowd of people, and makes his way up to Corey, the Keeper of the Ravenclaw team, who blinks at him before sneering.

"Get out of here, Queer-inus. You're not allowed on the team."

"I'm not t-trying out for the t-team." Quirrell rolls his eyes, even though he's secretly harboured a desire to try out for Seeker ever since his first year. "I'm offering to - to help you guys d-decide the final p-players."

"Why would –"

"S-something to put on my resume for when I a-apply for teaching j-jobs, duh. To show t-teamwork and all that sh-shit."

Corey growls. "Just get out of here, okay? You're not wanted."

"I h-have a note from D-Dumbledore." Quirrell presents it. "I'm st-staying."

A few third year girls are watching, and they giggle and blush when Quirrell glances at them. "Are you the flower guy?"

He rolls his eyes. "Y-yeah."

"How about some flowers for good luck?" One of them asks, before giggling again, and Quirrell shrugs, retrieving his wand.

"N-never one to disappoint." He mutters as he conjures up a small bouquet and hands it over. The girl looks like she could explode.

"Thanks." She manages, smiling wide. "That's – thanks." They all giggle again before hurrying away, and Corey shoves him angrily.

"Why the fuck are girls crowding around you when you're the only fag here?"

Quirrell rubs his shoulder in annoyance. "'C-cause I'm devilishly handsome, I d-don't know. And I'm n-nice?"

"You're distracting everyone!"

"Is this 'c-cause I didn't make f-flowers for you? Don't worry, I – I'll do it right now."

"Shut up!"

"Nah, I c-can see this is really b-bothering you, so…" Quirrell flicks his wand smugly, and a plant begins to coil itself around Corey's arm. "J-just for you."

"Is –" Corey leaps back, trying to claw the spreading plant off of him. "Is this Devil's Snare, you queer? Get it off! Get it _off!"_

Quirrell laughs at the commotion, and people are stopping to stare at what's happening. Who knew Corey could scream that high? "Oh, r-relax, here, it's no big d-deal…" He manages through his giggles, flicking his wand again so a bright light strikes the plant. It stops winding itself around Corey, and drops to the floor. "So, h-how about some Qu-Quidditch?"

Corey glowers furiously, but there's a slight look of fear too, as if he's just realising how skilful Quirrell is with his wand, so he grudgingly beckons him to sit next to them. "O-Okay, Queer-inus, here's the deal." He manages, still looking a little shaken up. "We watch 'em play and we tell them what they did wrong."

"Or what th-they did right?"

"They all suck. Just like you." He then cracks up, and so do his friends. "Get it? 'Cause –"

"I like dicks, y-yeah, hilarious." Quirrell replies. "Alright, so w-where are the…"

Two boys are getting ready with their bats, and they look incredibly nervous. And no wonder; Quirrell really doesn't get the purpose of this game. They need people to bat away dangerous bludgers? No wonder so many people end up in the medical wing.

He watches as another guy throws bludgers at them and the boys attempt to hit them away. One of the bludgers hits a boy in the face, and Quirrell grimaces. That's a broken nose for definite.

"Alright, that's enough." Corey calls, clapping his hands. "Bullshit. Get 'em off the pitch."

"H-hey, c'mon." Quirrell attempts. "Room for im-improvement, yeah, but not t-terrible. It's a tough g-game."

"Oh my God, Queer-inus, shut up." Another boy mutters in annoyance. "You don't know anything about Quidditch."

"I – I do." Quirrell protests. "I know l-loads!"

"Gays don't do sports." Corey snorts. "Unless it's, I dunno, ballet dancing."

"B-ballet dancing is hardcore." Quirrell retorts. "I'd like to – to see any of _you _do it."

"We wouldn't, 'cause we're not queers." Corey snaps. "Anyway, shut up. Next!"

God, the notes on his resume really aren't worth this shit. Quirrell half-heartedly gives feedback after every candidate, which earns him a painful shove or pinch from Corey and his lackeys each time. He guesses it's not a good time to finally admit that he's interesting in trying out for Seeker. He'd never hear the end of it. Besides, he doesn't have it in him anymore.

He doesn't really have a lot left in him, actually.

XxX

By seventeen years old, in his final year, Quirrell has made a list of things to look forward to after graduation. So far he only has: _Sex, Herbology position, boyfriend, sex, house to himself. _He writes _sex_ again, because hey, it's pretty much always on his mind, seeing as he still hasn't got the scarf's end of the deal yet. And he's getting impatient.

He looks at the list again, and tries to smile, even though he kind of wishes he was dead. NEWTs are coming up, and even though he totally aced his OWLs (Outstanding in every subject), he's still nervous.

Plus, the bullying has only gotten worse. It's more violent and he's scared, because he's honestly not sure just how much longer he can take it. It's been relentless ever since he was twelve, and he's so tired.

He wills himself to get up from the bed and at least try to make it to Transfiguration, because he's already ten minutes late, and reluctantly folds up his list and stuffs it under his pillow. It's important to have goals, after all.

Quirrell leaves the dormitory, even though he's desperate to just stay in bed forever. The corridors are empty, and he's grateful for it, even if it means he really is super late. Whatever, he'll be graduating soon, so who cares?

He's just making his way down the stairs, when he hears movement behind him, and something heavy thumps into his back. He stumbles forward, wheezing, and would fall headfirst were it not for someone roughly grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back. "So, Queer-inus, did you do my essay yet?"

Quirrell is too busy trying not to pass out to listen to what Corey is saying. What did he hit him with? It feels like a boulder just crashed against his ribs. "Oh, the – the essay." He manages. "J-just gotta – proofread – do the c-conclusion – "

"For fuck's sake, I told you I needed it by today!" Corey yells.

"You – you said this afternoon. We st-still got – a few periods 'til –"

"Change of plan. I need it now. Finish the god damn thing!"

"I – can't!" Quirrell protests. "I h-have – class now!"

Corey punches him across the face, and Quirrell gags. Oh, shit, that's a lot of blood on the stairs. Is it coming from him? He's not good with… "Issat f-from my mouth?" He slurs, tentatively reaching up to his lip. Blood is all over his fingers. "Nonono."

Even Corey seems vaguely panicked. "That's for – for not finishing it on –"

"I'm g-gonna be sick." Quirrell whines. "H-help me, please."

"Shut up." He attempts, but he's hastily looking around in case any professors are about. "Be quiet. You're fine." He begins to walk back up the stairs. "Give me my essay in an hour. If you don't, there's more where that came from."

"B-but –" Quirrell heaves, and covers his mouth, which of course ends up being stained with blood too. "Corey! I'll f-finish it! Just p-please help me!" He's panicking. He can't try to heal himself if he's panicking.

Corey hesitates and then turns around again. "You're such a coward. You're useless. Pathetic Queer-inus who can't solve his own problems."

"S-says you!" Quirrell yells. "I'm d-doing all your fucking s-schoolwork!"

"Shut up!"

"And y-you're still f-failing all your exams!" Quirrell laughs. Maybe he's in shock. "I'm the b-brightest student in this stupid p-place. That's why y-you're getting so mad. Not j-just 'cause I'm gay."

"It's because you're a gross queer who – who keeps looking at me!" Corey manages, gripping tightly onto the staircase banister.

"What? R-really?" Quirrell laughs again. "I'm so s-sorry, but you're not my – my type at _all_."

"I'm not – I'm not like you!"

"And h-have fun with your b-boring heterosexual life!" Quirrell wipes at his mouth again. Too much blood. "But f-first take me to M-Madame Pomfrey!"

There are footsteps coming, and Corey looks panicked. He glances at Quirrell again, before turning and running. Quirrell really isn't all that surprised, but now he has to deal with whoever it is that'll find him.

As it turns out, it's Dumbledore. They look at each other for a while, and without words, Quirrell is helped up (he seems to have slumped on the stairs, but he doesn't really remember), and he's guided into Dumbledore office, a damp cloth being pressed into his now numb hands.

"Press it against your mouth." Dumbledore tells him. "It'll help. And I have some Calming Draught somewhere…"

Quirrell slurs another thank you, and looks up at Dumbledore's Zac Efron poster. Wow. He'd kill for a boyfriend like that.

Dumbledore sits across from him, his palms pressed together. "So. Quirrell." He begins, and Quirrell could quite honestly cry. _Finally_, someone who's referring to him as Quirrell. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"I'd h-have thought it f-fairly obvious, p-professor." He replies. "Seeing as p-people have been b-bullying me ever since I got h-here." _And you all did nothing. _

"We knew you were receiving some insults, but…we never knew this extent." Dumbledore tells him seriously. "Who hit you?"

Quirrell shrugs.

"You're a bright young man, Quirrell. We both know it's easier to just tell me."

He shrugs again, and Dumbledore sighs. "You want to be a Herbology teacher, right?"

"Y-yes. But not here. Not any-anymore."

Dumbledore seems to take this in. "I see. So…"

"O-other schools." Quirrell squares up. "B-better ones."

"Hogwarts is the best, you know that. And you'd be the best Herbology teacher. The school would really benefit with you."

"Don't f-flatter me." He rolls his eyes. "Too little, too l-late. You can't st-start being nice to me when I'm a-almost done with sc-school."

"I –"

"Y-you use my grades to b-big this place up even m-more. You don't _c-care_ about me, p-professor. If – if you did, you'd have h-helped. You'd have st-stopped all this."

"I do feel partly to blame." Dumbledore admits. "I've been a little distant this year, I know that. What with certain Dark magic on the loose…"

Quirrell refrains from rolling his eyes. "This st-started _years _ago, sir."

"Explain it to me. What they've been doing to you." Dumbledore sits back in his chair. "You can talk to me about anything."

_I would've appreciated this discussion a long time ago. _"They c-call me Qu-Queer-inus." He manages, already blushing.

There's a long pause, and then Dumbledore smiles at him gently. "You should never hide who you are, Quirrell."

"I d-don't. That's why th-they hate me. 'Cause I'm – I'm openly g-gay and I like it." Quirrell retorts.

"As you should. Nothing wrong with being gay. I happen to be myself."

That shuts Quirrell up, if only for a moment. "You k-keep that quiet."

Dumbledore laughs. "To the students, maybe. Not my colleagues. They all know."

"_I_ w-would really have appreciated kn-knowing." Quirrell points out. "So would my b-bullies. Or c-closeted kids."

"Look, Quirrell, the fact is that I want to know who hit you so we can do something about it. Finally finish this business."

"Like I – I said. It's too late. S-six years too late." Quirrell stands from the chair, removing the cloth from his mouth. "Thanks. I f-feel so much b-better."

Dumbledore sighs. "What about your parents? Do they know about all this?"

"N-no. They think my b-bruises are from me t-tripping over or whatever. I t-tell 'em there's nothing to – to worry about, and they b-believe me. 'Cause I'm a 'g-good kid'." He snorts. "Good Qu-Quirinus with my p-perfect grades and glowing r-reputation."

"Well. All of that is true. But you really should let them know. I can tell them, if you'd prefer that –"

"I'd r-rather die." Maybe that's a little dramatic, but he presses on. "D-don't you dare t-tell 'em anything. Not – one – thing." He heads for the door, but Dumbledore's final remark stops him.

"Listen, before you go. No matter what you might think of Hogwarts now, it'll always be here to welcome you, if you still want the Herbology position."

Quirrell shrugs, before nodding. "I a-appreciate that." He replies, before finally leaving the office. What a waste of time that had been. And now he's s_eriously _late for Transfiguration, so he just returns to the dormitory, and falls onto his bed in exhaustion from all the effort.

The House elves have left him some chocolate on his nightstand again, and he almost cries when he notices. They're the only ones who seem to care that his eating habits have slid somewhat. Quirrell manages to push himself up into a sitting position, and slowly pulls out his wand from the pocket in his school robes.

It's like time is slowing and his actions aren't his own. He looks at himself in the mirror, and he hates what he sees. He can't think of a single good thing about himself. He's repulsive. Everything. Useless and cowardly Quirrell.

_List. Think of the list. Good things. _

He's so tired.

_You're going to be a Herbology teacher. The best. And all the sex you were promised, c'mon. Gotta stick around for that. _

Quirrell drops his wand, panting slightly. He doesn't trust himself to hold it right now. His thoughts are running wild.

_The bullies will be left alone, unloved and unsuccessful. Hang on in there. _

His subconscious is right. He just has to pull through his NEWTs, and then he can graduate and start _living. _

Soon.

XxX

Holy hell, he really shouldn't have drunk that whole bottle of Firewhiskey last night. And before an exam and everything! Not for the first time, Quirrell has fucked it all up.

In his defence, it had been one of those nights. One of those weeks, months, years.

Ugh, God, his head is pounding and his throat is still burning, but he still has a whole essay to write in this stupid Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. He's going to fail.

_Just like everything else. _

Quirrell gags and hurriedly sips some of his water, trying to form a coherent sentence to put on the parchment.

_'__The three Unforgiveable Curses', _He scrawls, '_the Killing Curse, the –' _

He's going to hurl. He knows it. Why, why, _why_ had he bought so much alcohol? And the strongest stuff available?

Oh well, at least it's an exam for a subject he hates. It'd be worse if he had been hungover for the Herbology one. Quirrell has some more water, and continues to write. It's sloppy and unorganised, and probably totally wrong, but eventually he finishes, and he could quite honestly cry from happiness.

And, once the exams are all over and he gets all O's for his results, he finds he couldn't care less at all. As far as he's concerned, Hogwarts can go fuck itself.

He's finally free.

XxX

"I told you I wanted Herbology! _Herbology! _Not – Defence Against the Dark Arts!"

It's a few years later, and Quirrell has slaved away as a Muggle Studies professor, with the promise of getting Herbology by the end of this year. Except the position has already been taken. Quirrell could legitimately scream.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry." Dumbledore raises his hands in surrender as Quirrell angrily paces around his office. "But hey, it's not so bad, right? You have all the makings of a great Defence teacher! Nice, safe…Y'know, the works!"

Quirrell _really _could start screaming now, except that's a little unprofessional. He manages a disgusted sound, at least. "Nice?" He echoes. "_Safe?_ 'Cause I'm the gay sissy?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I hate that subject! I wanted Herbology! You – you promised!" Now he sounds like a toddler throwing a tantrum, but _really? _This is such a joke!

"Look, don't make any rash decisions, just give it some time. You're the best candidate for –"

"I'm not even a candidate, Dumbledore!"

"You'll do absolutely fine, I know it. The kids are gonna love you! Hey, you're a big hit in Muggle Studies, right?"

"No!"

"Yeah, you are." Dumbledore dismisses with a bat of his hand. Quirrell wonders if it's worth the hassle throwing one of the fancy ornaments that decorate the office at Dumbledore's head, and is growing increasingly fond of the idea until he speaks again. "Like I said. Think it over. Chill for a while."

"Chill?" He echoes dumbly.

"Yeah, you're a little upright, y'know? Always been like that, ever since you were a kid." Dumbledore chuckles and Quirrell is suddenly desperate to get out of the office before he hits him. "So. You'll think about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He manages, his fists clenched. In other words, no fucking way. He'll look up teaching jobs in other schools the moment he's alone.

"Hey, that's the spirit! I knew I could count on you. Brightest professor in this joint!" Dumbledore shakes his hand firmly. "So, I expect an answer by the end of the day."

"Wait, what?" Quirrell exclaims. "I thought…Longer, I need more time for…"

"Now get outta my office, you." Dumbledore chuckles again as he guides a stunned Quirrell out. "I'll see you later!"

"But – but Dumbledore, hold on –" The door is shut behind him and he's left standing in the corridor. The end of the day to decide whether to sign up for the job or not? What happens if he says no, anyway? Will he be sacked from the Muggle Studies position?

Quirrell bites his fist, trying to figure out what he even wants anymore, and glances out of the window where the Forbidden Forest is. A walk. Just to clear his head. It could be nice, too.

So that's what he does, and before long he's making his way through the forest, kicking at trees to let out his frustration. "Uptight!" He says out loud angrily. "The – nerve of – I'll show him 'uptight', the old…" He swats at a branch bitterly, and it springs back, whacking him in the face. "Son of a –" He yells as he rubs his nose. "I'm done! I'm _done!" _

There's nothing but the darkness of the forest and his heavy breathing. For the first time, Quirrell begins to feel a little apprehensive, and he swallows. Maybe it's time to head back…This _is _the Forbidden Forest after all, and it's getting pretty late. Who knows what kind of creatures are lurking?

Quirrell glances around again, and here's a rustle of leaves nearby. A fox, maybe. Something harmless. Surely. He slowly slides his wand from the pocket of his robes, just in case. The rustling intensifies, and he cautiously steps back, wand out.

"Who – who's there?" He manages. Damn, his voice is way shakier than he'd like. He tries again. "Hello? I'm – I'm a professor! A D-Defence Against the Dark Arts one! So…Watch out!"

He looks in horror as a snake slowly slithers from the bushes, and he hastily steps back again. If there's one thing he cannot stand, it's snakes. Still, at least it looks pretty harmless – more like a grass snake than a poisonous –

He yelps loudly as it leaps at him, and he falls to the ground, scrambling back to his feet instantly, and he runs. Holy shit! Holy _shit_, that had been close. Never trust a Forbidden Forest animal, no matter how harmless they look.

Quirrell crashes through the trees, desperately trying to find a way out, and then a low chuckle reverberates through his head and he stops instantly, slowly turning around. "H-hello…?" He whispers hoarsely as his eyes flicker everywhere. "Is s-someone there?"

"Hello." The raspy voice responds coolly and Quirrell yelps again, his hands flying to his mouth as he continues to desperately look around. "Now, now, quit moving so much. There's no need. I'm right here."

Quirrell pants harshly, as he reaches up to touch at his head. "W-what…what are – you?"

"More of a 'who' than a 'what', but I'll let it slide just this once. You're now the proud body host of the one and only Lord Voldemort. Congratu –"

Quirrell is vaguely aware of himself sinking into a sitting position, and then he slumps forward, on the brink of passing out, until a sharp jolt goes through him and he yells out in pain.

"D'you mind? I was talking there."

"The – wha – "

"Now, to business; did you say you were a Defence Against the –"

"Get out!" Quirrell's voice rises, and he's aware of how hysterical he sounds. "Out! The D-Dark Lord is in – my – _getoutrightnow."_

"Jeez, shut up, let me –"

"I'll do any-anything!" Quirrell clasps his hands together pleadingly. "P-please! I'll find you s-someone way better! Oh, p-please, please get out of my – my head!_" _His eyes are filling up, and he can feel himself crying. He hasn't cried in years; he gave up a long time ago when he realised how pointless it was. "Anything! I'll – I'll do –"

"Yes, you will do anything. Like answer my god damn question." The Dark Lord snaps. "Quit snivelling. So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by my ungrateful host, are you a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"

Quirrell swallows, wiping at his eyes. "Uh…um…" He falters. "Not ex-exactly?"

"Excuse me?" The voice begins, dangerously soft, "So you lied to the Dark Lord, is that right?"

"N-no! No, I d-didn't know it was you!" Quirrell gasps back. "I t-teach Muggle Studies, but –"

"_Muggle Studies?" _The Dark Lord yells in disgust. "Why the fuck would you say you were A Defence Against the Dark Arts professor when you actually teach _that_ pointless and revolting class?"

"I've b-been offered the p-position, but I haven't a-accepted it yet!" Fear is making it hard for him to breathe. It's a familiar sensation, but he knows this evil bastard won't be happy if Quirrell starts having a panic attack. "P-please don't hurt me!"

"Shut up!" The voice roars in his head. "Seriously! Shut up, you baby."

Quirrell flinches violently, his hands pressed against his ears as if he'll be able to drown the voice out that way.

"Now…" The Dark Lord huffs. "Stand up and go back to the school. From there we can –"

"W-we?"

"Yes, 'we', you moron. You work for me now."

He can't help it; Quirrell begins to sob loudly. It's completely embarrassing, but he physically can't stop. He's so scared. So, _so_ scared. He's going to die.

"Hey. Hey, cool it. No one's going to die, except Harry Potter."

"Oh my God!" Quirrell cries desperately, his hands in his hair. "Nonono!"

"Listen. Calm down, alright? I didn't catch your name."

"Qu-Quirrell…" He sobs. "It's – Quirrell."

"Stand up, Quirrell."

Quirrell shakily stands, wringing his hands desperately as the voice continues. "We'll head up to the school and you'll accept the job. D'you have a room at Hogwarts?"

"Y-yes."

"Perfect. Close to all the action. Okay, so do that, and then I'm gonna tell you what to do. It's a pretty good plan, and I expect you to perform it perfectly. Or else." There's a pause. "Wait, how old are you?"

"Uh – um – " Should he lie? Maybe. Yes.

"No, you shouldn't lie, you fucking idiot. I'm in your head. Just tell me the truth." The Dark Lord orders.

"T-twenty – twenty two." Quirrell manages through his ragged breathing. "T-twenty three in – few weeks – "

There's a longer silence. "Fuck. I've taken over a high school kid!"

"H-hey!" Quirrell protests. "I'm y-young, but I'm s-smart! Outstanding in – in every NEWT and –"

The Dark Lord makes a snoring noise, and Quirrell hastily shuts up. "Whatever, it's not like it matters how old you are. You'll do what I say anyway. Up to Hogwarts, Quirrell."

Quirrell shakily steps forward, and then stops as an idea enters his mind. Before Voldemort can register what he's thinking, Quirrell presses his wand against his temple, and time stands still.

"Put your wand down." The Dark Lord says quietly. "It'll do no good."

"K-kill us."

"Really? Y'think that'll kill me?" The voice laughs. "I have horcruxes, idiot. How do you think I'm even here?"

"Th-then me." Quirrell manages. "I d-don't care. I w-won't do it, I won't h-hurt students."

"Put the damn wand down, Quirrell."

"N-no."

"Now! I'm in charge, do you understand? Put the wand _down_!" The voice rises furiously. "So help me, I'll –"

"Av…" Quirrell swallows, his hand trembling. "Avada…" He can't. He's a coward. He's just a –

His arms moves without him even wanting them to, and he begins to snap his wand. "No! St-stop it!" He's crying again. Oh God, why is this happening to him?

"This is nothing!" The Dark Lord yells. "You want more? You want the Cruciatus Curse? How dare you!"

"D-don't – hurt me! I'm s-sorry! Please d-don't break my w-wand either!" His hands drop, under his control again, and the wand falls to the ground, thankfully still in one piece.

"Pick up your fucking wand and keep it in your pocket! If I see you reach for it, there'll be hell to pay, got it? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Quirrell wipes his eyes, shuddering. "The b-brightest professor who'll _n-never_ agree to what y-you're planning."

"Ah, Quirrell…" The voice suddenly softens. "You're forgetting that your mind's an open book for me right now. All those bullies. Those pathetic teachers…"

Quirrell gasps. "St-stop it! Don't!"

"No one ever appreciated you, did they? You know why? It's because deep down, they know you're someone to fear."

_It's because I have a preference for dicks. _"I…d-don't think it's f-fear…"

"Whatever, I don't know. Oh my, Dumbledore really is useless, isn't it? Poor Quirrell. No Herbology job for you."

Quirrell furiously begins to scratch at his forehead. "Stop – looking – at – my –" He pants shakily, and is interrupted again.

"Quit that. Alright, no more looking, see? Just…cool it. Are you always this…" The Dark Lord pauses, before he continues with a small snigger, "Uptight?"

Quirrell's mouth drops slightly, and he stops scratching himself. "You're a dick!" He exclaims before he can stop himself. "You s-said no more l-looking!"

"I'm Lord Voldemort, moron, of course I'm a dick." The voice laughs.

"I'm not up-uptight! I've just been t-taken over by the most evil w-wizard ever!" Quirrell yells, still absolutely furious. "How – how dare you?"

"You're getting a little wound up about this, aren't you? I like it. Feisty." The Dark Lord chuckles. "Not as big a sissy as I feared. And _oh, _what a cute face. You still look like you did when you were fifteen?"

Quirrell can feel himself blush. "Um…Well, I've g-grown, obviously?" He manages, his voice cracking in embarrassment, before he pulls himself together. "I t-told you not to look th-through my thoughts!"

"That's me finished for now." Comes the reply. "Cross my non-existent heart. Until I get my body, that is. Wait 'til you hear this plan, I know you'll love it."

"I'm not g-gonna do it."

"Of course you will, Quirinus Quirrell."

Quirrell clenches his fists, shaking his head over and over. "N-never! I…I c-can't hurt students."

"Who says you'll be doing any of the hurting? You'll just help me out, a bright wizard like yourself. You'll help me get my new body, let my Death Eaters know I'm back…You won't need to hurt anyone. I promise."

"And…" Quirrell swallows. "And then – I can go?"

"Quirrell, Quirrell, of course you'll have to get your _reward. _Hm. How does half the world sound to you?"

"Wait, what?" Quirrell frowns heavily. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"You're a remarkable man for agreeing to help me, Quirrell. Incredibly loyal."

"B-but I _haven't_ agreed to –"

"Shut up! Jeez. As I was saying, incredibly loyal. And loyal followers get their rewards. For helping me come back to power, I think you deserve to help me _govern _that power." The voice softens. "Finally getting the recognition and praise you've always longed for. What you _deserve,_ Quirrell, let's be honest. They're all idiots, aren't they? Weak, cowardly idiots who made your life a misery."

"I n-never did anything to th-them." Quirrell mumbles, feeling hypnotised by what the voice is saying. "I was a k-kid. I – I'm a nice p-person. I don't th-think I deserved any…any of that."

"I agree. This is your chance. Payback on those who wronged you! They won't be so smug when you're ruling over them, will they?"

Quirrell allows himself to picture the idea, if only for a second, and he feels something stir within him. A bubble of excitement which is soon swamped by disgust at himself. He can't seriously be considering this ludicrous claim. This is the Dark Lord, for fuck's sake.

"D-don't kid me." He finds himself saying. "Y-you'll kill me once this is d-done with. You don't need to p-pretend."

"Quirrell, _Quirrell_, have a little faith, will you? They're the real bad guys. I'm giving you a fresh start." The Dark Lord huffs. "All that's left for you to do is agree. You _do_ know you have no choice, right? You're agreeing, or I'll kill you right now and find someone else to possess. Which admittedly would take up a lot of time, and I feel like we've bonded so much already, don't you?"

Oh yes, Quirrell is going to die. He thinks of his parents back home, and feels a pained sting. He's never going to see them again and he doesn't even have a decent chance of a goodbye. "H-half the world, huh?"

"Absolutely. All the flowers your sissy wand can conjure. Who needs Herbology?"

Quirrell's jaw clenches, but again, the idea of finally destroying the bullies who made his school life hell is flourishing in his mind, and he bites his lip. "…Yes." He says, after a while, allowing the full weight of his decision to descend upon him. "My – my Lord." _No going back. _"I'll…I'll…I'll do it."

The moment the words are uttered, he wants to claw his own face off. He hates himself, he _hates_ himself, for being so weak and worthless and pathetic. He should die and die with dignity, but he's a coward who will do whatever people say, because hey, he's been kicked around his whole life so why change anything now?

Except this will have way more dangerous consequences.

He goes back to Hogwarts, his mind in a haze, and agrees to the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. Once inside his room, the Dark Lord tells him about a minor detail he forgot to previously mention, and soon Quirrell is screaming in pain with a face on the back of his head at the end of it.

The Dark Lord tries to calm him down, but it's clear Quirrell is in too much of a state to even listen. "It's done. It won't even be for long. This just makes it easier for me. Besides, now I'm not in your head, y'know?"

"On – on the _back _of i-it." Quirrell cries. "My _h-hair." _

"Ugh, it'll be fully restored when I have my body back, quit bawling."

"It h-hurts!"

"It'll fade."

"I – _hate _you!"

"I know, I know, that'll fade to. You're a slave to me now, you'll have to start treating me with more respect sooner or later. Especially if we're going to be in this situation for a while…" He sighs heavily. "This room is a _mess_…"

Quirrell wipes at his eyes shakily. "So f-fucking what?"

"It's just really gross. Like, your laundry's everywhere." The Dark Lord sniffs a little in distaste. "Clean. Right now."

There's a pause, and then Quirrell shakes his head, despite the pain it causes. "No." He replies before he can stop himself. "Y'know what? W-we're in the same boat h-here."

"Excuse me, slave?"

"I-I'm _not_ your slave. I say we t-treat each - each other equally, starting now." He looks in his mirror, straightening up slightly. He's pale and sickly, as though he's been run over by a truck ten times, but he squares his jaw. "I'll do w-what you say, yeah, but let's set some g-ground rules."

"I don't know who you think you are, but –"

"Shut up!" He yells back, and it seems to startle the Dark Lord into doing just that. Clearly he didn't expect this at all. "Rule one: No c-curses or torturing me. Rule t-two: I get days off f-from these dumb schemes. And rule th-three –"

"Wait, wait a minute, I'm in charge." The Dark Lord attempts, though he seems a little apprehensive and hesitant due to Quirrell's bad mood.

"D-did you not hear me? As of – of now, we're equals!" Quirrell protests. "I literally c-can't make my-myself any clearer."

"Uh…" The Dark Lord coughs a little. "Well, I don't know about _equals, _per se, but…I can agree to your rules, at least."

Quirrell smiles, partly in disbelief. Who knew Lord Voldemort was such a pushover?

"I'm _not."_ The Dark Lord retorts. "I'm just – I didn't expect you to get all fired up, jeez. And your rules are acceptable, I…I guess. If we'll be in this situation for a while. Because you and I, Quirrell, we're going to be major success stories once the little Potter business is finally done with. Half the world to you, right?"

Finally getting the recognition he's always wanted. Respected. Maybe even feared. "Half the w-world." Quirrell repeats softly as he continues to look at himself in the mirror. "Right."


End file.
